Butterfly Fields

I’ve looked for myself in the eyes of the street,
Seeking to fill the emptiness
I seem to have always known
With a glance, a smile and a nod
From someone I’ve never known.
I look for some reflection
Of the me I hope they see.
I reach out with my eyes
To touch someone,
Ask them to touch me.
And once in a while the mirror
Is bright and shines myself back
To me.

Most often though,
The faces just go
On by.
And I wonder what it is about me
That no one wants to see.
Perhaps I really am different,
Odd as I’ve always thought.
Perhaps it shows in my face,
This worthlessness I feel.
Empty, odd, worthless, lonely.
Nothing I do, no one I use,
Nowhere I go seems to satisfy me.
I look deep inside and all I can find
Is a big black hole,
And fields of butterflies.
Perhaps this fluttering emptiness can’t be filled
by anything out there.



It’s a deep, black hole,
Never quite mending,
Always demanding to be filled.
Never satisfied,
It changes it’s shape
From hunger to sadness to euphoria
To anger to anxiety to arrogance
To madness.
I’ve sought to feed the Hole
With any thing I could.
My friends, my family,
My youth, my future,
My heart.
I sacrificed everything to fill it
And seemed to only feed the emptiness.
And the fields of butterflys.
Now I’m sure this fluttering emptiness can’t be filled
By anything out there.


So tomorrow I’ll walk down the street
and remain inside myself.
Perhaps someone might wonder
what’s up with me for a change.
I’ll not look around
For I know what I need can’t be found
Out there.
For what I thought was a hole
That needed to be filled
Is actually a place,
Where God has lived all along.
All my demons I projected upon him
Odd, worthless, angy, mad demons,
And he has received all this stuff
And somehow turned it to good.
What I took for emptiness
Was stillness and peace,
Things I couldn’t abide.
Now when I look deep inside all I see
Are these beautiful butterflies.